Clipper II: Electric Vindaloo
by CrazedArt
Summary: The Wolfram & Hart team must save one of the firm's employees from his worst nightmare - himself!
1. Prologue: An Englishman Walks Into A Bar

**Prologue: An Englishman Walks Into A Bar ...**

Spike loved telling this story. Especially while drinking. And most especially to a pair of his countrymen.

"So there I am, wearing this Don Ho reject of a shirt, G.I bloody Joe himself right in front of me," he said, pausing for another swig of Guinness. "I can't hit him, what with the bird there. So I put on this wanker accent: 'No, sir. I'm just an old pal of Xander's here.' And the blighter _buys_ it! Lets me walk right off!"

His new drinking buddies– and sort-of co-workers, he just learned – laughed right on cue. At least one of them did. Decent enough, this Lister guy, even if the dreads made no sense. The other, the man of the hour, was still whining about being drunk. And all he'd had was two beers. American, even. _Typical, he thought. But what do you expect from somebody from Berkshire?_

Dave Lister was also having fun, even if his roommate and now supervisor in the Wolfram & Hart mailroom said his stomach was pulling a Mary Lou Retton. This other guy was alright. Still, what kind of a name is friggin' Spike? Must be a London thing, he surmised.

"So what ever happened with you and the girl?" Dave asked his slightly pale new friend. "She sounds pretty together."

Spike knew this question would come, but wasn't looking forward to it. He took a deeper pull of his drink before answering.

"Ah, we'd be here all night before I could finish that story," the vampire said. "The short version is, Love is sadness and hate and grief. And then you need a drink. Speaking of which, another round?"

Lister raised his glass before answering: "We still have to toast Mister Office Assistant, Second Class here." He shook his friend in an effort to rouse him.

"Please, Papa, jushht ten more minutshh," Arnold J. Rimmer slurred, as Spike returned with three tequila shots.

"Time's up, Skippy," Spike said while handing out the glasses. "Tonight we make a man out of you. Go on then, make your toast."

"Veddy well," Arnie said, barely standing. "To Mishhter Short Shircuit himself, whosh passing made thish honour possible ..."

"Short Circuit?" Spike whispered to Lister.

"You know, Number Five," Dave replied. "That Mucha Lucha-looking guy who went missing awhile back. Rumour is the boss offed him in a bloody cemetery!" He looked at his rambling roommate. "Rimmer, are we drinking or what?"

Rimmer lazily looked at his friend and took a whiff of the Cuervo in front of him.

"Fine," he slurred. Pinching his nose with his free hand, he led the trio in a shot. And promptly fell back in his seat.

"Reminds me of Percy, this one," Spike said with a smirk, moving to pick him up.

"Guess I'd better get him home," Lister said, grabbing Rimmer's other arm. "We should do this more often, yeah? I know this place with great vindaloo, and Sunday they're gonna show Liverpool toss around those Man U wank-"

Spike was about to defend his beloved Red Devils when he heard the crackling sound coming from behind the bar. The next thing he knew, he was knocked against a wall. He looked to his right and saw Lister and Rimmer lying nearby. Ahead of him, he first thought, was a demon. No, it smelled human. Looked like Elvis, though. No. More like … the boy?

"Give him to me and everyone else can live," the other Rimmer said, pointing at his prone double.

"And who the hell are you?" Lister said, himself in shock at the sight of the visitor.

"Sonny," the stranger said behind a puff of cigar smoke, "You're looking at a goddamn Ace."


	2. Act I: Pleased To Meet Me

**Act I: Pleased To Meet Me**

"So much for a slow night," Spike muttered to himself. Instinctively, his face shifted to its vampiric form. But he noticed he wasn't the only one looking for a piece of this stranger. He crouched and waited for the right moment.

At the center of the bar, the second, taller Rimmer was fending off five attackers with little effort. Finally, Lister broke through, sneaking up behind the visitor and laying into his back with a metal folding chair. Unfortunately, the only thing it knocked over was his cigar. But at least, Spike noticed, it got a reaction.

"I guess you watch wrestling in _every_ dimension, eh, Lister?" the stranger asked, as he started to turn around. "Don't you know it's all fake?" The next voice Lister heard was Spike's.

"DAVE! DOWN!"

Lister ducked in time to see his blond friend lunge at the other Rimmer like a cat … and hit the side of the bar like a brick. Now no one stood between this other Arnie and the one slouched over on the floor. _And what's wrong with Blondie's face?_ Dave wondered.

"If you're all quite done, I think it's time you let me explain," the visitor said, walking toward his drunken double and picking him up gingerly. "I'm Ace Rimmer. You know, Guardian of the Universe. One day, Drinky McPukerson here will be, too. I'm here to make sure he gets that chance."

As Spike picked himself up and reverted to human form, Lister's shock turned to recognition.

"You're him! The guy that blasted into the office that one day!" Dave said, before the look reverted to shock. "But wait … you're really him? _Him?_" He pointed at Arnie.

"You're me?" Arnold asked, upright but still seeing through beer goggles. "Both of you? But you're …"

"Cool? Yeah, I get that a lot," Ace said. "You will, too, if Count Chocula here lets me do my job." The vampire and the mail clerk came closer to the Rimmers.

"Oh, excuse me for taking offense when some ponce on a star-scooter threatens my life – while I'm having tequila!" Spike huffed back. "But what do you mean, make sure Skippy gets his chance?"

"We have to get out of here first," Ace answered tersely, dragging Arnie toward his bike. "I had a head start on it, but lost it pissing about with you all." Spike was used to his gut clenching upon hearing things like that, but the feeling was new for Dave.

"Head start on what?" Lister asked, haltingly.

A side wall exploded in a blast of laser fire, cutting down the final few people trying to escape the bar, and sending the Rimmers for cover behind Ace's motorcycle as Spike dove again, this time pushing Lister out of harm's way. They got up a few seconds later, as the smoke cleared to reveal yet another, even larger Rimmer. A very long, very silent five seconds passed before the next person spoke.

"You just _had_do asshk, dinchu?" Arnold yelled at Lister.


	3. Act II: Hastily Laid Plans

**Act II: Hastily-Laid Plans**

Zipping against the flow of L.A. traffic wasn't how Arnold J. Rimmer planned to start his hangover. A well-timed laser blast from Ace's cycle held off their more ominous look-alike long enough for them to escape the bar. But all things considered, he'd rather be puking from alcohol abuse than motion sickness.

"So, you're me," the slowly sobering Arnie said to Ace. "And that beefier thing chasing us is also me."

"Yes," Ace said, frustrated at having to chase Spike, who rode with Lister ahead of them. "That's it exactly. And it's come here because it wants to kill you. And me. And any more of us it can find."

"Why?"

"Power. It started when it accidentally killed the Ace Rimmer of Dimension 161. That made it a little stronger. And it's been on a rampage ever since."

Arnie hated the fear he was feeling, even more than the sobriety. He looked back and saw it – saw himself, or at least some version spit out of a funhouse mirror.

The Rimmer giving chase was at least 30 pounds too big for Arnie's beanpole frame; Ace's trademark pompadeur was twisted into a single spit curl. He wore Ace's long, loopy shades, but his mouth was locked into a determined scowl. Whatever this ... thing cared about, Arnold could see he wasn't on the list anymore. He had just one more question for his brighter future self – which he found himself clinging to like a little brother.

"How ... How many of us are left?" he asked Ace.

"Just us, my friend."

"Does he know that?" Ace paused a few moments before coming clean.

"Er, yes. I kind of told him the last time we met up."

"You _what?_" If Arnold could spare a hand, he'd have slapped himself. The one driving the craft, that is.

"I haven't been doing this very long, alright?" Ace said with a huff. "I'm still _you,_ after all."

Just ahead of them, Lister was using his cel phone.

"Wolfram & Hart, how can I direct your call?" the female American voice answered after Lister dialed the code Spike dictated. Dave figured he had to speak up to be heard over the traffic.

"Hello! I work in the mailroom!" Dave shouted, his Liverpool accent flapping in the breeze. "Spike said to call you and –" The voice cut him off, and sounded annoyed.

"Excuse me, could you please speak English?" the woman answered.

"I _am_ English!" he yelled. "Listen, you stupid bi—" Spike yanked the phone out of his hand and put it to his ear carefully. He knew who would be on the other end of the line.

"Harmony, shut up for a second," he said. "Is Angel there? No? Good. Here's what I want you to do ..."

The third Rimmer was content to keep pace with his two doubles and their friends for the time being. He'd catch up to them soon enough, and then he'd make them – and everybody else – pay for all those schoolyard taunts. 

And after that, find some dimensional portal back to his childhood. Just to see the look on Father's face. But he'd have to ditch this Ace persona. And Arnold would be dead. Maybe his middle name ... _Yes. Judas,_ he thought. _Judas Rimmer. What better name for the most fearsome bastard in the Universe?_

He noticed his prey pulling into one of the seemingly infinite tall mirror-windowed buildings in this damnable burg. Instead of following, though, he dropped back and turned right. Then he hit the thrusters on his craft.

Spike led himself, Lister and the two Rimmers into the Wolfram & Hart lobby, then slowed down enough to pull up alongside Ace. Meanwhile, Lister also noticed the absence of another kind of company.

"Guys, I think we lost him," Dave said, allowing himself to relax again before looking around. "Wow, they really _did_ clear the deck."

"Actually, that's where we're headed," Spike said, taking the moment for a quick smoke and handing one to a slightly confused Ace.

"What is this place?" Ace said, which in turn further confused his counterpart in this dimension.

"You don't know?" Arnold asked. "That wasn't you getting friendly with the corporate muckey-mucks that one day?"

Ace looked down for a second, then held up a finger. "Ohhhh, I get it," He began to explain. "See, that was an Ace Rimmer. Just not-" He felt a sudden weight on his back, followed by some rather sharp lips on his own.

"ACEEYYY!" Harmony yelped gleefully after kissing him. "You're back! I knew you'd come back for me."

"Oh, er, hi, sweetheart," Ace said, re-donning the confident grin he wore for his fans. "Couldn't resist stopping by, but I've got some business to discuss with Spike here." He put Harmony down gently, as she made a petulant face at her ex-boyfriend.

"You mean Mister 'Clear the blooody lobby'?" she said, affecting a horrible British accent, everyone else thought. "And I called Fred and Wesley. They're way mad at you, too. Even if you did call because of Acey." She clung to the taller Rimmer's arm and was about to ask what the big deal was when the screaming started.

"The observation deck," Spike noted at once. "Come on!"

The group, now with Harmony in tow, arrived in time to see the violent demise of the final three of the 10 W&H security troops Spike had dispatched to the deck. The blood seemed to shimmer on Judas Rimmer's flight coat and laser pistol. As they approached, Ace leaned back to whisper to the shivering Arnold.

"I need you to take the wheel," Ace said carefully before switching the power off. "If this turns into a total cock-up, though, flip this red switch." He pointed at a small toggle on his craft's console, while Arnold looked at him incredulously.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why not just let the big tosser win?"

Ace smiled and dismounted the bike, and Arnold again felt like a little brother. "You'll see why."

"Give them to me," Judas said, pointing at the Rimmers. "And I may just-"

"Just piss off!" Spike said as he lunged at the dark Rimmer, this time connecting with a haymaker, then an uppercut to the plexus. A right uppercut knocked this Rimmer's sunglasses off, which gave the vampire some satisfaction, before feeling the unmistakable thud of a rifle barrel slam across his jaw. 

_What do they_ feed _these spacemen?_ He thought before falling back. Looking up, he saw Ace jump into the fray, then a red flash that seemed to stop upon reaching him. Then the man in the Elvis shades fell at the feet of his bigger counterpart.

Judas picked the Guardian of the Universe up by the neck.

"Oh, balls," Ace coughed.


	4. Act III: Me, Myself And Why

**Act III: Me, Myself & Why**

_This definitely looks like a cock-up,_ Arnold thought. Spike was on the floor, surrounded by dead security men, with that annoying (yet cute, in a _Neighbours_-reject sort of way, he had always thought) blonde American struggling to pull him up.

And Ace Rimmer, the embodiment of his Lord Flashhart dreams, was being held up like a side of beef by this nightmare version of himself. _Yup, a major cock-up._ But instead of flipping the red switch as Ace had instructed, he turned the Guardian's bike on and swung it around, pointing it back down the hallway.

Lister barely hopped on the back of the seat before the motorcycle accelerated away from the carnage.

As the two clerks sped away, Harmony let go of Spike and lunged at the two upright Rimmers, shedding her human face in mid-air. Judas leveled his weapon at her, but Ace slapped the barrel away at the last second, causing it to fire astray. When the vampire landed on both Rimmers, Judas dropped both the rifle and his injured opposite, needing both hands to keep Harmony's fangs off his neck.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" Judas sneered. "All you Yankee women, so cute. In a _Neighbours_-reject kind of way." That only made Harmony angrier.

"The show's called _Friends!_" she said, punctuating the last word with a slash at the stranger's eyes.

A few feet away, Spike dragged the fallen Ace toward a safer spot. Ace held his stomach while watching this new fan of his protect him – or rather, the Ace she had met. _Fans are such a nice perk,_ he thought as the Londoner helped get him upright.

"Co-worker?" Ace asked.

"Ex-girlfriend," Spike replied, turning to see her kick Judas square in the groin – with no effect.

"She always fight that dirty?" Ace asked, wincing as Judas slapped her like an angry parent. Spike took a second to wince before answering.

"Don't they all?"

"Right," Ace conceded, already thinking of how to help her, but disappointed Arnold had reacted just as he imagined he would.

"What are you doing, you git!" Lister demanded as the bike swerved to and fro through the hall, barely missing at least two walls. "They need our help!"

"What do you plan to do, Lister? There's no folding chairs about!" Rimmer shot back. "Besides, Mega-Me isn't after you, is he? Let's just get out of here." That got on Lister's last nerve. He slapped Arnold on the back of the head, getting him to stop in the center of the empty lobby.

"And where do you _plaaan_ to go, Rimmer?" he asked mockingly. "That thing can travel through space like Captain bloody Kirk! You think he won't be able to find us?

"And what about Ace, and Spike, and that blonde? They don't even know us and they're putting their arses on the line. For what? For two idiot mailroom clerks, is what." Arnold hung his head down, looking away from his flatmate. But Lister got off the bike and came around, forcing Arnold to face him.

"You're always carrying on about, 'being a part of something _bigger,_' and 'seeing some _real_ action,'" Lister continued. "Well, here it is, and here we are, away from it again. Is _this_ how you want Arnold Rimmer to be remembered?"

Rimmer put his head back up, scowling. He hated it when Lister was right, especially knowing Ace had seen him take off quicker than a schoolgirl's skirt. But while readying himself to turn Ace's bike on again, he felt something cold and round press the back of his head.

He looked up and saw Lister in the same situation, flanked by a rather James Bond-looking chap. Then a very soft female voice behind Arnold asked for their identification.

"Very impressive speech, Mister ... Lister," Wesley Wyndam-Pryce said, backing away with Dave's company ID, but not lowering his gun. "Perhaps you can explain why Miss Burkle and I had to leave the opera early."

Ace didn't like the feeling in his gut; not just the chill coming over it at the thought of what he was doing – staggering toward Harmony and Judas and, perhaps, his demise – but the way it seemed to limp right along with him, sloshing to and fro like a drunk. But he knew there was no other way. These were just the kinds of things Ace Rimmer _did._

Still, he reckoned he wasn't completely helpless. He had two advantages over Super-Butch: experience as Ace himself, and knowledge of what to say to piss off the Arnold that had to lie underneath. Ace limped over until he was just out of arm's reach of his bigger counterpart, who was stalking a fallen Harmony over a pair of corpses.

"Hey, Elvis!" he called out. "Your fight's with me, not the hired help!" He hated being called Elvis. And by the slow, hunched-over way Judas turned to face him, that was probably true for the guardians of every dimension. As the angry dark Rimmer silently shifted his attention, a roaring motorcycle and yelling Spike pierced the quiet.

"OI! SMOKE _THIS_ KIPPER, MATE!" He said just before ramming his own motorcycle into Judas' side, sending him flying into the railing of the observation deck.

Ace collapsed, feeling a whole other type of cold come over his legs.

Arnold accelerated Ace's craft, which was risky - navigating the narrow Wolfram & Hart hallways with one passenger was hard with just one passenger, but downright dangerous carrying three, as Wesley and Fred had piled on along with Lister. Still, Rimmer felt _something_ had gone wrong, and he had to be there.

They arrived just as Ace fell to the floor, and pulled up alongside him. Spike rejoined the group and apprised the new arrivals of Ace's gambit a few moments earlier. He also noted to Wesley he'd need a new motorcycle. Fred noticed that Harmony, sitting by Ace's side, looked ready to cry.

"Acey, it's gonna be okay!" she said. "Look, Wesley and Fred are here and so's ..." she looked at this smaller version of her crush and came to the only logical conclusion. "So's your little brother!"

Ace smiled, not like a Guardian, but like a man.

"No, dear, it's not like that," he said, then put her hand in Arnold's. "This is-" Lister cut him off.

"Sorry, fellas," he gulped. "But it looks like The Rimmernator's back." Wesley took the point and shifted to command mode, flanked by Harmony and Fred.

"Harmony, you're with me," he barked, leveling two guns at the intruder. "Fred, you get to its' craft, see if you can trigger a portal out of here. Spike, you ..." he looked around. Where the hell had he gone?

"So, more friends for the pretenders," Judas said, studying his new adversaries. _Hmm, more tottie,_ he thought as he eyed Fred. "But where's the prat who played Evel Kinevel?" His answer was the side of a rifle barrel hitting the back of his shoulder, splitting the weapon in two.

"Shoddy, these Martian guns are," Spike said through clenched cigarette. Then he felt a fist crash into his stomach.

_Typical Spike,_ Wesley thought, as his feet braced. He fired six shots into the creature's back, distracting it just enough for Harmony to come in from the left flank and join the fray.

"All these people ... care about me?" an incredulous Arnold asked, watching his superiors risk their lives for him. "I just don't understand." Ace tugged at Lister to help him sit up before answering.

"It's what they do," Ace answered, unzipping his flight jacket, now stained bright red on his right side. "It's what Ace Rimmer does."

"But why?"

"Because, Ace Rimmer is a big part of something even bigger," Ace said. "You get to make a difference." He smiled mischievously, as Lister helped him remove the jacket. "And you get to pick up on pieces of tottie like that one Yank." Both Rimmers shared a chuckle before Ace went on, ignoring Lister's eye-rolling realization that if you met one Rimmer, you really _had_ met them all. "And it's what you'll have to do."

"What? No!" Arnold yelped.

"Not yet, but soon," Ace said as calmly as he could. "Now quit being a git and flip that switch like I'd bloody asked you to!"

Upon remembering about the switch, Arnold's face made a perfect O shape, like Macaulay Culkin in _Home Alone._ He scrambled to Ace's bike and looked on the dash, finding the switch and flipping it with his right hand, after covering his eyes with his left.

Within seconds, the sky around them seemed to crackle like ripe popcorn. Arnold split his left fingers enough to peek, despite himself, and instantly regretted it. Were those ... doors opening in the air? He wondered.

Sitting with the fallen Ace, Lister had the same thought. He didn't know the fallen Guardian was also surprised: _Would you look at that?_ Ace said to himself, eyes widening. _It really_ does _work._

_Would you look at that?_ Fred thought, crouching near the front panel of Judas' bike, watching its instrumentation lights flicker like an overdecorated Christmas tree.

"We've got company!" she yelled at Wesley before squeezing out a pair of rounds at the creature. "Multiple portals, opening all around!" In doing so, however, she allowed Judas to hear what was going on.

"Impossible!" he raged, struggling with Spike and Harmony each locked onto one of his arms. "I've disposed of all the others! ... Unless ... No!" He stopped fighting and looked up, shocked at seeing a pompadeur emerge from one of the red doors.

"You lied!" Arnold shouted at the fallen Ace. "You said we were the last!"

"Had to say that for you to take it seriously," Ace said slowly. "You would've done the same thing. You're _me,_ remember? Now relax. It's all in hand."

In less than one wind-tunnel, portal-filled minute, thirty Ace Rimmers descended upon the ravaged observation deck, leaving their bikes hovering overhead, and surrounded everyone on the floor. Harmony wondered if she was in Heaven. Lister was sure he'd reached Hell.

Spike grabbed Harmony and dragged her back toward Lister and their Rimmers. Fred and Wesley met them there. Easily done, since the pack of Aces had just one thing in their sights. After stopping to compliment one another's hair, of course. They converged on an increasingly irrational Judas, chanting: _Traitor ... Traitor ... Traitor!_

The group seized the struggling stranger and forcibly attached him to his own craft. One punched some buttons on the display, opening yet another portal, through which Judas Rimmer exited screaming. Wesley pulled the apparent leader aside and asked where that door led.

"Nasty place," the head Ace replied. "We call it Dimension Zero. It used to be known as Quortoth." The name dangled on the edge of Wesley's memory. He reasoned he probably read about it somewhere.


	5. Epilogue: That First Step's A Doozy

**Epilogue: The First Step's A Doozy**

The Rimmers ignored their erstwhile allies at first, instead gathering around their fallen namesake, who lay held up by Arnold and Lister. Not that the Wolfram & Hart team had learned anything to say to ease moments like these. Instead they stood behind the circle, Wesley with his arm around Fred, and a sniffling Harmony burying her head in Spike's sore shoulder.

At the center of the Rimmers, Ace lay on his back, feeling an odd sense of peace, if not actually his lower body. Looking around himself at all these versions of himself, he surprised himself by considering it an even deal. Looking back to his left, he saw a teary-eyed Arnold clutching his blood-stained flight jacket.

"It's alright, Arnie," Ace said, and winked. "All it means is, more people think you're cool." To Arnold and Lister's horror, he slowly pulled off the pompadeur, looking now completely like the mail clerk, with close-cropped, curly hair that would otherwise never grow to such proportions. Ace placed it on Arnold's hands, atop the jacket. "You'll need to wear this, too."

"Hello, Wesley" one of the Aces said to the former Watcher, before turning to Fred. "We're told you both did some good work for another one of us."

"I wish we could do more for this one," Winifred answered.

"Is he ..." Harmony started to ask. This Ace walked over toward her and gently patted her shoulder.

"No, not really," he answered. "There'll always be an Ace Rimmer, somewhere." He turned away, and went to retrieve the fallen Ace's craft.

"How do I look?" Arnold asked, feeling silly as all hell. Yet strangely ... what was the word? ... oh, right. _Cool._

"Like a goddamn Ace," his Ace answered. "Right, boys?" Arnold looked up to see smiles from himselves, all around. Even Lister slapped him on the back, in congratulations.

Ace coughed. He knew he had only one more thing to tell the lad.

"Remember," he said. "It goes, 'Smoke me ..." The thought hung in the air long after he faded into nothingness.

The gathering fell silent for a few moments. Then he was tapped on the shoulder and presented with his - _my!_ He reminded himself - space chopper. He unsheathed his sunglasses from the coat pocket and took his seat as the other Aces returned to their respective bikes. His now former superiors approached, and the group exchanged handshakes. Except for Harmony and Lister, whom he hugged.

"Ready?" the newest Ace asked his fellow Guardians, and joined them in opening dimensional portals. The air crackled again, bringing more fierce wind onto the deck. "All together now!" he yelled, and as one the Aces announced: they'd be back for breakfast.

One by one, the group revved up and through its respective portals. As this dimension's Ace began his ascent, however, Harmony began chasing him.

"Wait!" she yelled, barely audible over the interstellar roar. "Acey! Can I get an AUYEEEEEEEE!" She was pulled headlong into their Ace's portal. Spike tried to catch her foot, but Wesley and Fred held him back, before he also got sucked in.

Like a blender after making a cocktail, the whirring and noise wound down within seconds, leaving only a confused Lister, Winifred, Wesley and Spike standing among the corpses and wreckage of the observation deck. They looked at one another for a long few seconds, as if to make sure each had experienced the same lunatic dream, before Spike grabbed a smoke.

"God, what a mess," he concluded, surveying the scene. "I'd hate to be the one to tell Angel about this!"

The group looked back at him with narrowed eyes. Spike's eyes widened at them in response.

"Oh, balls," he huffed, and puffed. _So much for a slow night._


End file.
